


Eggnog and Mistletoe

by TheLostPleiad



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, M/M, a tiny bit of angst for seasoning but mostly fluff, peaceful christmas party time, they deserve nice things, when ur mom thinks you’re dead but still wants to know about ur love life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28163721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLostPleiad/pseuds/TheLostPleiad
Summary: Christmas Eve, 1919: The Reids host a partySometimes we can, in fact, have nice things
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	Eggnog and Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays y'all! This was a gift fic for tyrantwache on tumblr for the Pembroke Hospital Discord's Christmas Exchange :D buckle in for some Soft Holiday Vibes
> 
> If you enjoy, please leave a comment!

Christmas Eve, 1919

The cobblestoned streets of London were filled with more warmth and festivity than Jonathan had ever seen, and he walked through the Whitechapel enjoying the strange feeling of lightness that bubbled up inside him as a group of carolers tipped their hats at him. He supposed the revelers were celebrating with the fervor of missed Christmases of the past—this being the first Christmas Eve without the threat of war or plague hovering over in quite some time. _They deserve a joyful evening,_ Jonathan thought contentedly, _we all do_. 

It wasn’t snowing, but the sky held the chill promise of snow to come. Jonathan watched the flushed faces of those passing him by, and hoped the pallor of his own did not give him away. The fear held little urgency though, not on a night as peaceful as this. He certainly felt more festive this year than he had in years past. He had never been a grouch when it came to Christmas (though Mary may have argued otherwise, considering she was the one who would drag him to their family’s Christmas gala, during those years that he was particularly immersed in his studies. Usually in an attempt to introduce him to some single friend or another of hers). During the war, he found himself missing those parties and the awkwardness they entailed, if only for the comfort of being home and not worrying about frostbite or malnutrition, or any threats of outright violence. 

He had spent the last Christmas in a haze of fear, preparing to fight the Disaster that was Harriet Jones and mostly convinced he wouldn’t survive the attempt, or that he would fall as previous Champions had. Edgar was dead, Elisabeth was missing, and Geoffrey McCullum was baffling as ever, even after their détente in the cemetery.

Now, well, Edgar was still dead, but he had talked Elisabeth down from the precipice of her own destruction, and she had returned to London with him so he could research her condition without abandoning his patients and family. Geoffrey McCullum still managed to surprise and confuse him, but in infinitely more appealing ways. He felt more at peace than he had since before the war, he realized, strolling with his hands in his pockets. He was thankful for the long winter nights more than ever, allowing him to check on his patients and spend time with his loved ones. His rounds were finished for the night, and he was taking his time on the walk back to the West End. 

A familiar heartbeat caught his attention. Hsiao Shun was emerging from a dimly lit side street, far darker than any mortal should be treading by themselves. “Good evening, Hsiao Shun.”

“Wǎn shàng hǎo, Dr. Reid. I see your rounds do not stop for Christmas either.” She smiled at him. 

He chuckled in return. “I am afraid my work never truly ends, although I just finished for the evening. What about yourself?”

“People do not stop needing medicine just because it is a holiday, as I’m sure you know, and I think having company helps just as much as the medicine. But I am finished for the evening.” 

“Do you have any plans for Christmas?” He asked delicately. 

She offered a fluid shrug. “We did not celebrate Christmas in my culture, but Matthew was always fond of the holiday, and his enthusiasm was infectious. Last year was the first time in years that I spent Christmas alone. It felt...hollow.” 

Jonathan sighed. “I know what you mean.”

“Of course, your sister.” She said consolingly. They talked for a few minutes about the wellbeing of Whitechapel’s residents; Jonathan offered to bring more medicine for Hsiao Shun to distribute, and to explain its uses and dosages. In turn, the widow informed him of those in the area who needed more help than she could offer. Eventually, conversation ran out, and she turned to leave. 

A thought struck Jonathan. “Wait!” Hsiao Shun turned, surprised at the suddenly energized tone in his voice. “My mother and I are hosting a small Christmas dinner,” he said, “Why don’t you join us?” 

She hesitated. “I would not want to intrude.” 

“It is only a small gathering,” Jonathan coaxed, “It wouldn’t do to spend Christmas alone.” She still looked unconvinced, but he could tell she was wavering, so he added, “You don’t have to stay the whole time by any means, but Avery always cooks too much food, and it would be a shame to see it go to waste.” 

She gave a small smile, her shoulders sagging in a pleased sort of defeat. “This feels like the cemetery all over again, Dr. Reid—you dragging me out into the land of the living. Is this becoming a habit of yours?” She teased. 

He returned her smile, enjoying the warmth of their exchanges. “If it’s a habit, it’s one I’ll take to gladly.” He offered his arm to her, and she took it with poise. Together, they set off for the West End. 

With each passing minute, Hsiao Shun’s lips furrowed into a deeper look of worry. She brushed her skirts with the back of her hand. Jonathan could feel her anxiety building in the atmosphere between them. He drew them gently to a halt. “Is everything alright, Hsiao Shun?” His brows were drawn into his signature look of concern. 

The woman in question pursed her lips. “I am alright, it’s just—” she paused a moment— “I realize I’m rather underdressed for a party.” 

“Oh!” Jonathan relaxed some, although he didn’t dare to dismiss her concerns, or else Mary would come back from the grave a second time just to slap him. He remembered her lectures when he would complain about women and their clothes too well. “Well, that’s quite alright,” he said, “This isn’t a formal affair by any means, and I think your dress looks lovely for the occasion; the holly pinned on your hat is quite a nice addition.” 

She blushed, though the red was barely noticeable beneath the winter chill. “Thank you, for your reassurance. I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“That’s understandable. But no one at the party will mind in the least, no one I’ve invited would be so shallow.” 

“Well of course, you clearly choose excellent company,” she laughed lightly. They continued on their way, closing the distance between Whitechapel and the Reid Manor quickly.

The lights glowed warmly out the windows of the house, and a wreath hung cheerfully from the front door. Jonathan forcefully ignored how the pine needles made his skin prickle as he welcomed Hsiao Shun into the house. He had fed well before this—blood from the butcher’s as a step-up from alleyway rats. 

Avery greeted them cheerfully. He looked surprised at Jonathan bringing a guest with him (but not that surprised. His father had been much the same way, after all). He took their coats, and directed them to the parlour, where those who had already arrived were gathered. They were still waiting on one more faction of guests. The Ashburys, Clarence (sans Venus, who was awaiting trial for attempted murder, thanks to a rather _persuasive_ tip Jonathan had left Detective Albright), and his mother were all sat comfortably throughout the room. Jonathan greeted them all warmly: Elisabeth and Emelyne with a chaste kiss to the cheek, Charlotte and Clarence with a firm handshake.

Before much time had passed, their final guests made their appearance. Geoffrey McCullum, and his third-in-command, Morgan. Jonathan was still entirely unsure over whether Morgan was the man’s first or last name, but was in far too deep to their acquaintanceship to ask now. Geoffrey informed him, after a firm handshake and a smile that held a secret sort of intimacy, that his second was laid up with a cold and didn’t want to risk getting anyone else sick. He was also, evidently, mourning the loss of his chance at the anticipated Christmas feast. (With Jonathan working with Priwen on an increasingly regular basis, both treating guards and fighting with them, patrols in the West End, and whatever poor sods Jonathan had to drag back to his home for treatment when the hospital was too far, were treated to Avery’s cooking, and it had attained a legendary status amongst members of the Guard.) 

Avery insisted on preparing leftovers to bring back to Roberts, and hurried toward the kitchen. Geoffrey had doubts as to whether the food would make it back to headquarters.

Morgan did a double-take at Elisabeth Ashbury’s presence. Despite never seeing her before, he immediately recognized her as a vampire. _It made sense for a leech to have leech friends_ , he supposed. Elisabeth hid her disquiet beneath a thin smile. Charlotte was a bit less subtle, pinning the third in command with a warning glare before smoothing her own expression into something resembling amity. 

Their host picked up on the tension. “Mr. Morgan, I don’t believe you’ve met my guests. This is Lady Elisabeth Ashbury, and her daughter, Miss Charlotte Ashbury.” 

Jonathan was from an ancient lineage, though he did not know the full extent of what that entailed. Territorial behavior could be rather fierce in Ekons, and the older the blood, the stronger such traits showed. For the most part, Jonathan’s territoriality presented as a protectiveness of people he subconsciously claimed as _his_ rather than any plot of land. By naming the Ashburys as his guests, especially Elisabeth as a fellow Ekon, he was tacitly warning the Priwen third that any threats to their wellbeing would be dealt with by _him_. (Of course, Lady Ashbury could very well take care of herself. And Morgan had no intention of starting a fight; he had no desire to get his ass kicked by two vampires, one suffragette, and one _very_ pissed off Geoffrey McCullum. Plus, he would miss out on Avery’s cooking.) 

Morgan bobbed his head politely. “Pleased to meet you, ma’ams.”

“And you as well, Mr. Morgan.” Elisabeth responded coolly. Charlotte said nothing, only staring as if she could assess the sincerity of his greeting by sheer force of will.

It was at this point Avery returned to the parlor, and announced that dinner was ready. Jonathan felt the tension in the room break with the news. Contentment and yes, a touch of pride, settled on Jonathan as he watched his friends and family settle at the table. A more primal part of his brain was profoundly satisfied at having his favorite people, the ones he’d claimed as “his” in some form, all gathered around him. 

Jonathan sat at the head of the table, his mother to his right, and Elisabeth to her right. Charlotte was slotted between her mother and Hsiao Shun. Geoffrey claimed the seat to Jonathan’s left, and Morgan, naturally, sat by his leader. Clarence was seated next to Morgan, which could be interesting if his old friend started talking about vampires, Jonathan mused. Morgan was a rather quiet individual, so perhaps a verbal minefield could be avoided. Avery completed the table, seated between Hsiao Shun and Clarence. The Reid dining room hadn’t been properly filled in so long—Jonathan could see how the vitality that once filled this house returning was bringing tears to Avery’s eyes, and clarity to Emelyne’s. Jonathan hadn’t seen his mother so anchored in the present since his return to London, and the sight made his heart swell. 

Geoffrey found his hand under the table, squeezing it lightly. He looked away from his mother to see Geoffrey giving him a small, knowing smile. He knew how much this meant to him. 

Avery unveiled the roast at the center of the table with pride, its glaze catching the light and the aroma catching the noses of all those seated. Jonathan had convinced the man to accept his aid in preparations for the side dishes, but the beef roast was entirely the butler’s masterpiece. Jonathan cut the roast, and portions were dished out, side dishes were passed around, and the whole affair was conducted with much jostling and festivity. Once everyone’s plates were filled, Jonathan stood. 

He cleared his throat. “I’d like to make a toast,” he announced. He raised his glass. “Last Christmas was...a somber affair. I want to celebrate the healing the past year has held. The formation and strengthening of bonds. To all my friends, new and old. Merry Christmas.” He brought the glass to his lips, letting the wine just barely touch his sealed mouth. Flavor burst on his tongue from the small amount that stained his lips, not the richness of blood, but the tang of tannin. It was refreshing, even if he could not ingest more than a few drops. 

“Hear, hear!” cried Clarence. The solemnity of the moment was broken with the cheer, and everyone drank. 

The food stilted conversation for the first few minutes, as the human guests tucked in and the Ekons present pushed their food around strategically, bringing the forks to their mouths occasionally, or letting their lips just barely touch a spoonful of soup. Elisabeth had trained Jonathan on how to get by at dinners when he wasn’t able to actually _eat_. The ruse was aided by those who both knew their secret, and were seated next to them. When they could, food was pushed from Elisabeth’s to Charlotte’s plate, or from Jonathan’s to Geoffrey’s. It was much easier to get rid of food when it had somewhere to _go_. 

Of the people at the table, Jonathan took stock, half of the table knew what he was, and the other half absolutely could not know. (Unbeknownst to him, Avery knew, or at the very least had a strong suspicion, and he had since he learned what Priwen’s mission was, and Jonathan had refused the tea he had offered to the injured patrolmen in the same breath, the one that used to be his favorite.) So really, Jonathan Reid only had to keep four people from seeing him push food from his plate to the hunter’s, which was much more manageable than avoiding the eyes of seven people while seated at the head of the table.

Those that could eat were enjoying themselves immensely, and soon side conversations broke out. Elisabeth drew his mother into a conversation about styles of painting and favorite artists. Emelyne, delighted to have someone well-versed in the subject, immediately launched into a speech about what an absolute _scoundrel_ Edgar Degas was, and _really, she couldn’t believe that he received so much recognition when he was so unpleasant_. Elisabeth was happy to listen, and Emelyne’s monologue segued into complaints of how difficult it was to paint when her hands shook as they did. Elisabeth nodded, her expression one of utmost sympathy, and barely broke eye contact, even to push food onto Charlotte’s plate. Lady Ashbury promised to invite Miss Reid over to her manor soon, and _really, they were so nearby already, it was such a shame they hadn’t met each other sooner_. Emelyne preened as she told her she’d have Jonathan bring her (though he wouldn’t be allowed to stay, she insisted, it was to be a ladies’ evening). Avery, Jonathan noted, was beaming at the sight of the Reid matriarch so lively, and Jonathan felt that same surge of warmth. _Thank you, Elisabeth_ , he thought, hoping he could somehow convey his gratitude through his mind alone.

She didn’t respond to his mental message. However, when his mother mentioned how much she reminded her of a painting, and _oh, she couldn’t remember whether it was a Rembrandt or a Rubens,_ the redhead looked at him with a mask of innocuous amusement, which was then shattered by her sly wink. Across the table, Morgan spluttered into his wine in shock. 

He sent wide eyes over to his commander. _Did she actually…?_ Geoffrey could only shrug silently. The Ashburys and Jonathan were no help at all, only sporting beatific (or, in Charlotte’s case, slightly sinister) smiles. 

Dinner continued smoothly, the bafflement of the hunters present notwithstanding. It was much less awkward than Jonathan had feared it would be, since he was the one bringing several disparate groups together, but the initial tension had dissipated and the wine had set conversation flowing. 

Finally, it was time for dessert. Avery had insisted on a traditional plum pudding, and Jonathan had been sent out to the baker’s to buy a chocolate cake as well. Subsequently, Jonathan _politely_ convinced his hunter to go out and get it during the day for him, along with a few treats to bring back to Priwen as a bargaining point. 

Emelyne Reid was leaning eagerly into the table, a gleam in her eye. Jonathan knew how much she enjoyed seeing who received the charm hidden within the pudding. She was a believer in omens, and the charms predicting fortunes were always a delight to decipher. 

Jonathan brought out the pudding, Clarence trailing close behind with the cake. 

Avery stood to slice the pudding into equal pieces. Everyone received a slice of plum pudding at Emelyne’s insistence. A few grabbed slices of chocolate cake as well, to eat as their actual dessert (plum pudding was an acquired taste). 

The dessert was interrupted by Clarence making a gagging noise. Jonathan looked over in alarm, half-ready to leap out of his seat, when his friend straightened and announced, “I found the charm.” He held out a silver sixpence, gleaming lowly in the light of the chandelier. 

Emelyne clapped in delight. “Oh wonderful, Mr. Crossley! I can’t think of anyone more deserving of good luck this year than you, what with all the terrible business this summer.” She was far too polite to specify the “terrible business” in question. Clarence winced, Jonathan mirroring him in sympathetic remembrance. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Reid.” 

“You’ve only been friends with my Johnny for decades. I think you’ve earned the right to call me Emelyne.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “Perhaps the new year will bring you a new love, hm? I’m sure my friends have some lovely nieces and daughters I could introduce you to...oh I do just love blooming romance.”

Clarence looked like he might die on the spot, and not make it to the new year at all. 

“Mother, please.” Jonathan interceded, placing a hand over hers. “Spare poor Clarence from your well-meaning schemes, for tonight?”

“I don’t scheme,” she sniffed. “I provide assistance. I can’t meddle in _your_ love life anymore, now that you’re spoken for.” 

Geoffrey choked mid-sip. Jonathan somehow grew even paler. Clarence mostly looked relieved to have the attention off of him. 

“I—I’m afraid I don’t— _what?_ ” He sputtered.

Emelyne looked at him innocently. “Did you really think I couldn’t tell? I would hope I could recognize when my own son was in love, even if you won’t tell me who.” 

“Johnny, you didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone!” Clarence cried. Morgan was worried that his boss would expose himself simply by how red his face was getting. Fortunately, most of the table’s eyes were glued to Jonathan, who looked like he might reach his second death sooner than expected. Charlotte was enjoying the whole affair far too much. 

“It didn’t feel like the right time,” he said to Clarence lamely. He turned his embarrassed face to his right. “Mother, can we save this conversation for later.” Jonathan hissed. 

Her eyes widened. “Love is nothing to be ashamed of. I just want you to be happy, son.” She primly took a bite of her own pudding. 

Charlotte leaned forward with her elbows on the table, grinning wickedly. “Your mum is right,” she cooed, “What’s there to be embarrassed about?” Jonathan groaned.

“Charlotte!” Elisabeth reprimanded. The girl barely looked chastened. 

Avery clapped his hands. “If you are all finished with your dessert, I suggest we move to the sitting room for the remainder of the evening, there is eggnog available, along with whiskey, courtesy of Mr. McCullum.” Jonathan was only too eager to agree. 

In the parlor, Jonathan gravitated towards the seat closest to the fireplace. While he didn’t _need_ to be warm, he no longer produced his own body heat, and the sensation was nice. He gladly accepted a steaming mug from Avery, which would be subtly swapped with McCullum’s when his was drained. 

Across the room, he noted, Elisabeth had already been pulled into another conversation with his mother, which was a relief on his part, since he could avoid his love life being shoved into the spotlight. He’d choose the feral skals of the epidemic over that. Hsiao Shun was speaking with surprising enthusiasm to Morgan about something. He was considering eavesdropping on the pair, when Clarence sidled up next to him, still distraught over the fact that he hadn’t been entrusted with the details of Jonathan’s love life.

Jonathan sighed. Clarence was already giving him _the look_ , the one that would convince him to go along with whatever harebrained plot he had cooked up, and he hardly had the heart to say no to him now. “Yes, Clarence?” He stood from his chair, not enjoying looking up at his friend. 

Clarence’s eyes were darting around the room, in a less paranoid manner than he did out on the streets at night, but darting nonetheless. “So,” he whispered, “Who is it? Is it the redhead?”

“Lady Ashbury?” Jonathan blanched. “No, no. She is a very dear friend of mine, but nothing more.”

“Her _daughter_?” Clarence achieved the very difficult feat of shrieking and hissing the words at the same time.

“No!” He replied in the same whisper-shout. He resisted the urge to throttle his oldest friend. 

“Then who...ohhh.” Understanding dawned on his face. “Oh it must be—”

“No, no more guesses.” Jonathan cut him off. 

Clarence pouted. “I just want to be here for you, Johnny. I don’t want you to think that I’m so wrapped up in my own mess with Venus that I can’t be happy for you!” 

He sighed again, defeated. It had taken a while for them to patch things up over Venus’s betrayal. Clarence knew that Jonathan was the one who reported her to the police; only the two of them had known, and Clarence certainly wasn’t going to turn her in, not when he felt that he deserved her retribution. He felt that he should open up, at least a little bit to him. 

“It’s the taller of the pair by the wall, to our right. Geoffrey McCullum.” 

Clarence was unfazed by the fact Jonathan was with a man. He had known since they went to boarding school together, had been there for all his schoolyard crushes. What caught his attention was the name. He stared harder at the man in question, abandoning all attempts at subtlety. Well-built, maintaining a stance that suggested an easy confidence and a familiarity with fighting, and, now that he was really _looking_ , a tell-tale red scarf.

“When you say ‘Geoffrey McCullum’,” Clarence ground out, “You don’t mean _Leader of the Guard of Priwen_ Geoffrey McCullum, do you?”

“I told you I believed you about vampires, didn’t I?” He had the audacity to smile. 

“Johnny, mate,” he said, “I’m going to kill you.” 

The satisfaction slid off his face, leaving pure bafflement. “What?” 

“I’ve read all of Priwen’s publications that I could get my hands on, and you didn’t think to even _introduce_ me?!” Geoffrey and Morgan were looking on at this point, though luckily enough the rest of the room were involved enough in their individual conversation as to not notice Clarence’s dramatics. 

“Clarence, I—”

“I’m going to introduce _myself_ , no thanks to you. _And_ I’ll have to make sure he’s a good fit for you, it’s my duty as your best friend!” With that, he stomped off towards the pair of thoroughly amused hunters, leaving a chastised vampire at his back. 

Jonathan slumped back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t get headaches anymore, but the reflex hadn’t left him. 

He sat back in his chair, taking a moment to bask in the warmth and _life_ that surrounded him. There was a time, in those tumultuous weeks after his turning, that he was convinced he’d never feel this sort of peace again, that he would be damned to an existence of blood and shadows until someone was able to end him. But now, here he was, amongst the people that he loved (just as deeply as he loved before turning, though perhaps more fierce in his defense of that love), enjoying a Christmas free of violence and plague. Clarence was attempting to intimidate a man who fought monsters and won, as McCullum’s third muffled laughter behind him. His mother was still speaking animatedly with the woman who guided him in the new world he had been thrust into, while Hsiao Shun and Charlotte spoke with the ease of old friends across the room from him. He could sense Avery through the walls, as the man took a moment to gather himself in the kitchen from the swell of joy that had flooded the old butler’s heart and overwhelmed him momentarily. 

After a while, his mother tottered over to him. “Johnny, would you play a song for us? I do so love to hear you play.” She gazed at him fondly, eyes crinkling with delight. He looked around the room uneasily, as the rest of their guests looked on with varying levels of curiosity and amusement. Only Geoffrey had been privy to his practice, as he tried to regain what used to be his favorite pastime before the war. He hadn’t exactly been the most helpful observer, being as horribly distracting as he was, but the motions were familiar and easy to fall back into after a time. “Please, as a present for your dear old mother?”

“Your gift is already underneath the tree,” he protested. But how could he deny her anything, after the trials they had endured? He sighed in defeat, “Of course, mother.” She clapped in excitement as he made his way over to the well-polished grand piano in the corner and lifted the lid. 

Long surgeon’s fingers arched over ivory keys. “Any requests?”

“Oh, do God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, dear! That is one of my favorites, I’m sure the sheet music is in there somewhere.” Jonathan nodded, and dutifully flipped to the page for reference. 

He tapped one key experimentally, then began, easing into the melody as he remembered all the times he entertained with these carols at Christmas parties long past. Emelyne hummed along to his musical accompaniment, and the rest of the room listened contentedly. Jonathan was by no means a virtuoso, but he played steadily and with a tenderness that fit the atmosphere of the party, with its crackling fire and warm companions. His mother tapped her finger on the handle of her cane to the rhythm as her hums gradually grew into singing the lyrics in a thin, wobbly voice. 

When the final notes of the song still hung in the air, Emelyne sighed happily. “Thank you, Johnny. It’s so nice to hear that again. Although I do wish you would have sung, you have such a lovely voice, you shouldn’t hide it as you do! Would you play another song for us? And sing this time, please.” 

Jonathan had not consumed enough blood to be capable of blushing, but the discomfort was clearly written across his face, because Charlotte leaned forward and crooned, “Oh come on, Dr. Reid! We won’t bite.” Those aware of Jonathan’s status snorted a little at that. 

He shot the young woman a doubtful look. “I would feel better about that if anyone besides you said it,” he said dryly. Charlotte grinned in response. 

“Come on, Johnny! Give us a song.” Clarence begged. He looked over at his best friend, then Geoffrey, leaning on the wall beside him, caught his eye. The hunter had a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips, and that was what broke his resolve. Jonathan turned back to the sheet music, flipping a few pages ahead in the book until he found the one that suited the night best. 

His fingers settled once more on the keys. The melody started slowly, cautiously, like the first drops of rain before a spring shower. Then, in a wonderfully low baritone, he began to sing. 

_“Have yourself a merry little Christmas.”_ Emelyne closed her eyes and swayed in her seat. _“Let your heart be light.”_ A note accompanied each syllable, drawn out at the end of each line. _“From now on, our troubles will be out of sight.”_ Beats of silence added further texture to the song being woven in the air. Avery had slipped back into the room, a hint of redness in his eyes as he watched the scene.

Jonathan allowed himself to get lost in the music, his eyes drifting shut during the verses he knew by rote. His voice rose and fell, swelling with the hopeful lyrics and ebbing with the bittersweet ones. _“Here we are, as in olden days, happy golden days, of yore.”_ The shades of the Reid family seemed to flicker around Emelyne with the light cast from the heart: Aubrey’s hand on her shoulder, Mary cradling her son behind her, with her husband at her side. All of them were smiling and at peace. Jonathan knew they weren’t there, that they were merely phantoms of more innocent days, but he nearly choked before he could continue. 

_“Faithful friends, who are dear to us, gather near to us once more.”_ The room was filled with friends, both old and new. Charlotte, for all her affectionate teasing, watched with a smile on her face next to her mother, and Hsiao Shun sat poised next to them, sipping her eggnog. Clarence was still standing next to the Priwen guards, grinning in delight. 

_“Through the years, we all will be together, if the fates allow.”_ Jonathan let his eyes drift to McCullum, seeing his face and turning the lyrics into a promise of his. Clarence scrutinized the hunter as well. He realized, the tenderness in Geoffrey’s eyes contrasting with the harshly carved lines of his face, that he had absolutely nothing to worry about when it came to the safety of his friend’s heart. 

_“So hang a shining star upon the highest bough.”_ The intensity rose as Jonathan drew out the last word, before dropping to near silence. The final notes dropped haltingly from the keys, as sweet sentiment coated each measured word. _“So have yourself a merry little Christmas, now.”_ The song trailed off as Jonathan gazed sightlessly at the sheet in front of him. 

Emelyne’s eyes had filmed over with tears, he realized as he shook himself out of his stupor. “Thank you, Johnny,” she said. He could only nod in response, unable to speak past the lump of emotion caught in his throat. 

The evening had evidently caught up with his mother, as her energy soon began to fade. Jonathan volunteered to escort her upstairs, so that Avery could continue his conversation with Lady Ashbury. Jonathan worried, as he heard Avery begin a tale from his childhood, that Elisabeth would come away with far too much blackmail material for him. He supposed he would have to take the risk, however, and offered his mother an arm to escort her upstairs. 

“Such a wonderful party,” she mumbled as they left. 

“It was, I’m so glad that you could meet Lady Ashbury especially, I knew you two would get along.” 

She hummed in agreement. “Oh, I wish I could have spoken with that Mr. McCullum more, he was quite dashing. I can see why you like him.” 

Jonathan just barely caught himself from tripping on the last step with her pronouncement. “You knew?” 

“Well, I know _now_.” She smiled, a glint of mischief in her eye. 

“And you’re not...angry?” He asked, cautiously hopeful. 

“Why should I be?” She responded as Jonathan opened the door to her room. His mother sighed. “I did so wish for grandchildren, but with you and Mary having both passed on, well, I’m just glad you have someone who makes you happy.” 

His hope shattered like glass. He turned his face away so she couldn’t see his stricken expression. Her lucidity had improved with his regular company, but it still came and went like the tides. Tonight had been a good night, but it seems he had returned to his existence as a phantom in her mind. 

“I’m glad at least one of my family could visit me for Christmas,” she continued, blissfully unaware of Jonathan’s crumbling cheer, “It’s so quiet here without Mary and her sweet little Emmett— oh he is so much like his grandfather.”

“I know, I miss them too.” He squeezed her hand lightly, trying to assure her of his permanence. “I will see you tomorrow,” he promised. Jonathan eased Emelyne into the soft armchair in the corner of her room, knowing Avery would check on her before she went to sleep. “Goodnight, mother.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

She patted his hand softly. “Goodnight, son. Merry Christmas.” The thick door shut with a quiet _snick_ behind him. 

The sounds of chatter from the party drifted up the hallway, but the quiet sadness that always filled him when his mother looked at him but didn’t _see_ him had yet to fade, and he found himself drawn towards Mary’s room instead. Avery had kept the room in perfect order since Mary’s death. It was clean, and free of any dust, though the air smelled stale from the room having been constantly sealed off. Flowers were pressed between pieces of glass and pinned to the wall, faded but still beautiful, along with one of Emelyne’s older paintings—a simple landscape of a French vineyard, bathed in golden afternoon sunlight. Mary had adored that painting when they were younger, especially the birds that were rising from the vine-covered fields in a burst of frantic flight. He settled on her bed with a quiet exhale. “I wish you could be here, Mary. You would’ve loved it.”

He was still aware of the heartbeats below him, noticeable even through the floorboards. But he wasn’t quite ready to return to the land of the living, so he took up his mother’s habits of talking to ghosts, just for a little while. 

“I know, you didn’t want this life, that _I_ didn’t want this life, and I know that...that night in the cemetery,” he choked out, “was the only ending we could have had. But I can’t help but wish that it could’ve ended differently. That I could’ve helped you somehow, that I would have never _hurt_ you in the first place. That we could have learned together how to live this life, and mother would be alright, or at least better than she is. There are so many marvels in this world, I wish you could be here to see them.” He didn’t know how long he rambled for, sitting in that murky grey, separated from all the life going on below him. 

Eventually though, the door creaked open with a soft sigh. He didn’t turn, he didn’t need to in order to recognize who it was, not when the scent and sound of the hunter at his back was as familiar as the lines on his palms. Warm lips met the nape of his neck, pressing a chaste kiss again the skin. “Everything alright, Jon?”

He leaned back into the solid body of the hunter. “I’m alright, I just,” he sighed, “I needed a moment.”

Jonathan leaned to face him, seeing the softening brows on McCullum’s stern face. “Mary?” He asked sympathetically. “Or your mother?” 

He gave a grim chuckle. “A little bit of both I suppose.” He gnawed at the inside of his lip (a trait he knew drove McCullum mad, though he wasn’t thinking about that at the moment). “I wish I could have told her, back then, that this was possible, that it wasn’t all darkness and brutality. Maybe she would still be here, then.” 

“Mm,” Geoffrey responded eloquently. “Not quite sure you believed that yourself, back then. If you told me during the epidemic that we’d be spending Christmas together at your house, well, I would’ve assumed the stress sent you ‘round the bend. Or I would’ve tried to kill you even more vigorously.” 

Jonathan could only nod, his agreeing hum morphing into a purr of satisfaction midway through as the hunter’s thumbs started rubbing deep circles into his neck and shoulders. Geoffrey kept talking. “Point is, Jon, you couldn’t have known, yourself, that this is the way things would shake out. You’ve always done the best you could, and that’s all that anybody can ask for.” Geoffrey very tactfully avoided pointing out that Mary had killed quite a lot of people in her brief period of unlife, driven by grief and madness or not. If Jonathan hadn’t put her down, Priwen likely would have. 

He was still massaging Jonathan as he spoke, the vampire practically melting beneath his hands. Amused, he wondered if this sort of thing incapacitated all vampires, or just the lovestruck ones. Finally, he stopped, wrapping his arms across Jonathan’s chest, mouth right next to the shell of his ear. “Now,” he said, “Are you coming back downstairs or do I need to drag you down there. Your mate Crossley started talking about vampires again and I think Charlotte is about to hit him.”

Jonathan chuckled. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“One more thing first.” Geoffrey stopped him just before he could grab the door handle, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Jonathan responded eagerly, grabbing him around the waist. Geoffrey bit down with just enough force to keep from breaking the skin, always willing to push that boundary between the human and the inhuman just a little further. The doctor groaned in response, grinding their hips together. He moved his hands up the hunter’s back, sliding up his neck and towards his carefully gelled hair, stopping in surprise as Geoffrey reared back, breaking their kiss. “Ah ah ah,” he admonished, taking a moment to catch his breath. The hunter was flushed and grinning, clothes artfully rumpled. “Can’t have you messing with my look. Not when I got all dolled up for this.” 

Jonathan groaned again, this time in equal parts frustration and fondness, and rested his forehead on the other man’s. “God, you’re a tease.” But he pulled down on McCullum’s shirt anyway, smoothing out the creases. 

“Oh, but you love it,” he chuckled. He lowered his voice, the way the syllables rolled across his tongue sending shivers down Jonathan’s spine. “I promise you’ll get a chance to wreck my hair later.”

A slow smile spread across the vampire’s face, eyes half shut and looking every bit like a lounging panther, satisfied and slightly dangerous, even at rest. “I look forward to it.”

**~~~**

Soon after Jonathan and Geoffrey made their way back downstairs, the evening began drawing to a close. The combination of alcohol and good food had taken its toll, and eyes began to droop shut on several faces. Elisabeth and Charlotte were the first to say their goodbyes. Clarence ended up insisting on escorting them back home, claiming that dangers lurked in the shadows and he would be remiss to let them go on their own. It was impossible to tell unless you knew her well, but Jonathan could see the mirth through her placid facade. The three bid farewell to the rest of the party, and made their way into the chill open air. 

Hsiao Shun was fading as well, shifting as if preparing to make her excuses. Jonathan worried the inside of his lip, a habit that he had never been able to break, despite how many times he had sliced himself with his own fangs. “Morgan, would you walk Hsiao Shun home? I’m fairly sure you two are headed in the same direction.” He turned to the hunter. 

“McCullum and I actually got the car for the night. I’d be happy to give you a lift, ma’am, if you’d like.” He nodded. Hsiao Shun accepted, pleased she would not have to walk home. 

She shook Reid’s hand. “Thank you,” she told him, eyes dark and glittering in the lamplight of the entryway, “I think I needed this more than I knew.” 

His voice was warm as he responded. “Thank you, I think the company did us all good. Please, feel free to stop by at any time. This house needs to see more life in it.”

She inclined her head. “I may have to take you up on that. Merry Christmas, Dr. Reid.” 

“Merry Christmas, Hsiao Shun.” 

“See you tomorrow, boss. Merry Christmas, doc.” Morgan’s goodbye made the realization that Geoffrey was not returning with them set in for Hsiao Shun, and it looked like a final puzzle piece clicked into place for the woman as her eyes darted between the two of them. Jonathan tensed, then her face smoothed into a smile. She nodded warmly at the two of them. 

Jonathan returned Morgan’s farewell, eyes still locked on Hsiao Shun. Reading minds wasn’t an ability of vampires outside of their victim’s last thoughts, so he had no way of knowing the amused relief flooding her body as she thought “ _And here I was half-worried he was courting me._ ” 

Morgan and Hsiao Shun left in short order. As Jonathan shut the door against the wind, his last view of the pair was Morgan opening the door of the lorry for the woman, and he wasn’t entirely sure if the red on his cheeks was the product of the chill or her presence. He smiled in satisfaction as the scene drew to a close. 

**~~~**

After everyone left, Jonathan sat on the sofa, indulging in the warmth of the fire and the man next to him, who was carding his fingers slowly through his hair. His eyes slit closed as he leaned in to the touch, a deep satisfaction taking root in his chest. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he groaned when the hand was removed. Geoffrey stood up with a huff. “Alright, Reid, let’s wash up these dishes.”

Jonathan, still in a comfortable haze, craned his neck to look up at the hunter. “Hmm?” It was more of a grunt than a question.

Geoffrey rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to leave _all_ those dishes for Avery, are you? Now get your pampered arse up and help me.” 

Jonathan stretched as he finally moved. “You always say the sweetest things, dear hunter.”

Geoffrey swatted him lightly. “If you wanted easy, I suggest finding yourself a nice West-End wife. You scrub, I’ll dry.” 

Jonathan followed him to the kitchen, naturally. Washing the dishes went faster with two people, and if there were wet handprints on Geoffrey by the end, well, that was their business. The two retired to Jonathan’s room in the early morning hours, the rest of the house fast asleep. Presents were placed underneath the tree, ready to be unwrapped at the next sundown. Jonathan’s hand was still warm from the hot water as he and Geoffrey walked with fingers interlaced down the hallway, to the bed Geoffrey found himself sleeping in more often than his own. 

Jonathan opened the door, then paused. Geoffrey watched the gears turning in his head as he looked up, a smile playing at his lips. “Mistletoe,” he commented absently. 

Geoffrey cocked his head. “Hm, I wonder how that got there.” 

Jonathan chuckled, “Yes, I wonder.” 

“Well, it’s tradition,” he said seriously, “We can’t spurn tradition, not on Christmas.” 

A smile curled on Jonathan’s lips. “Of course not.” He cupped Geoffrey’s cheek. “Not on Christmas.” Leaning down, he captured the hunter’s mouth with his own, soft as the snow that had finally begun to fall outside. It was easy, familiar, but somehow no less thrilling than the first time. 

Geoffrey rested his forehead against Jonathan’s own. “Merry Christmas, Jon.”

“Merry Christmas, Geoffrey.” 

**Author's Note:**

> End Notes: “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” was written in 1943, but the lyrics fit so well and the prospect of Jonathan Reid’s voice singing that song was just too appealing, so I invented time travel Specifically to bring this song to that era


End file.
